


Hunger For the Great Light

by theskywasblue



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Dreams, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-07
Updated: 2010-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enlightenment is cold fingers on Ukoku's skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger For the Great Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rroselavy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rroselavy/gifts).



They always give him the same room when he arrives, tiny quarters on the farthest side of Kinzan from Koumyou’s rooms. Almost as if they know something, as if they hope the distance between the two sanzos will keep proprieties in place.

The room is well-appointed enough that Ukoku cannot complain without seeming infantile – though he has on occasion complained nonetheless, depending on how footsore and irritated he is – but on this time he resists the urge. He’s too much concerned with thoughts of a hot shower and a good meal.

The acolyte’s name is Chen, he’s maybe 17; the same age Ukoku was when he stepped over his master’s body and into the arms of the gods and Koumyou Sanzo. There is a faint layer of dark stubble covering what should be his cleanly-shaved head and Ukoku has the entirely irrational desire run his palm over it, to push that perfect, fragile boy-creature against the wall, press his forehead against the wood and hold him there, take him fast and hard from behind until he screams.

He wants to tear apart the simple innocence he sees in Chen’s eyes.

“Master Koumyou is in lectures,” Chen tells him in a patient, guileless voice, “but I will make certain he knows you have arrived.”

Ukoku shuts the door in his face.

He strips off his robes and kicks them into a corner. He’s filthy and exhausted, but somehow more of the latter than the former. The bed at least is soft, and he barely has his limbs arranged atop it before his consciousness slips away.

***

He wakes to find someone – Chen probably – has left dinner on his side table. The sun has gone down and outside the windows night presses in against the light of Ukoku’s single lamp, entreating.

Ukoku eats cold rice, gelatinous cooked vegetables, sitting in just his jeans. Not so much different than his many nights on the road.

Surely Koumyou’s lectures are over by now. Perhaps the other man was never told of his arrival. He wouldn’t put it past Chen, the simpering little bitch. Well, he will go seek Koumyou out then. Later. At the moment the sweat and dirt smell of his own body actually disgusts him.

The shower is only lukewarm as always. Ukoku cannot recall ever having a decently warm shower inside the walls of any temple. Such luxuries surely encourage a softness of character that is thoroughly inappropriate. He is goose-fleshed and irritable when he leaves the bathroom to find Koumyou sitting on his bed.

“Hello Koumyou,” he lets the towel fall around his shoulders, naked otherwise. There is no need for such pretentions around Koumyou. The man has seen his _soul_. When Koumyou arrived he must have shut off the bedside lamp, for the room is shrouded in such darkness that Ukoku cannot see the older man’s eyes, but he knows they are fixed on him. “So they told you I was here?”

“Of course they did my wayward friend,” Koumyou’s lighter breaks apart the darkness as he lights his pipe. The room smells suddenly of sweet tobacco atop the prevalent sandalwood. Koumyou’s scent. “I’ve been waiting quite a while.”

_“Bullshit,”_ Ukoku wants to say, _“you have never waited for me a moment in your life. You would be happy if I never came here.”_ He doesn’t know quite where the sudden ire comes from, but it’s there, mixed with guilt, shame and a horrible arousal.

No matter how far he wanders, he always comes back to Kinzan. Koumyou’s pull is too much.

They stand for a long time, in the shadows, with only the glow of Koumyou’s pipe. Finally, he sets it aside on the empty plate and beckons Ukoku towards him. Ukoku shivers as Koumyou’s fingertips brush his thighs, hisses through his teeth at the full touch of his deceptively strong hands.

“That’s cold damn you.”

“My apologies,” dry lips brush Ukoku’s stomach like the wings of a moth, “they will warm soon enough.”

Koumyou’s breath is cool against his hardening cock, even his tongue and the deep cavern of his throat seem uncharacteristically chilled as they envelope him. It reminds Ukoku of the burning summer night, not so long ago, when Koumyou took him on his hands and knees, and afterwards, without warning of any sort, pushed a whiskey-softened ice cube into the depths of him. The cold was exquisite torture then as now.

“Koumyou...turn on a light.”

Koumyou pulls him down onto the bed instead, always able to turn the tables so easily. It’s infuriating, but Ukoku cannot muster anger with skin – even chilled skin – against his own. Later he will let his temper show, rail against the man now drawing pleasure out of every molecule of his being; and Koumyou will suffer it, as he always does, without complaint.

The room is so dark he cannot see Koumyou’s face, but his hands and mouth seem to be everywhere and the long curtain of his hair – it should be gold, but the faint moonlight makes it silver as it might soon be with age – brushes against Ukoku’s chest like the fingertips of a thousand ghosts, driving him wild with sensation.

For a moment a trace enlightenment touches Ukoku. Koumyou puts him in this room _himself_ so that no acolyte, no wandering soul, will hear the sounds of their passion.

Ukoku’s hand scrabbles across the side table, knocking dishes and Koumyou’s pipe to the floor, spilling half-eaten rice and fine ash. He wants the light, wants to see Koumyou’s face, Koumyou moving above him as more than just a shadow; but Koumyou’s hand closes around his wrist, as cold and strong as steel, and pins it above his head. Koumyou moves inside him, hard and deep, with carnal purpose, chanting his name like some perversion of an ancient mantra, and when Ukoku comes there is finally a feral brightness behind his eyelids.

***

He wakes again in darkness, shivering, to the smell of water and stone, the sheets sticky and wet around his hips. He reaches for the light next to the bed, but hesitates at the last minute, fingers brushing against the cold metal of the stand.

In the darkness his dream is almost real enough to taste. He thinks, if he inhales deeply enough, holds the air right in the back of his throat, he might smell sweet tobacco and sandalwood.

The chance slips away all too quickly as consciousness returns, dragging the last resisting parts of his mind from the stupor of sleep, and Nii turns on the light.

-End-


End file.
